


I Came Here for Sanctuary

by coffeehanjan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Fenris and Isabela had a one night stand in Rialto a few years back, M/M, Modern Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person Limited, Slow Burn, THIS IS A LOVE TRIANGLE FREE ZONE, but that's the only part where it won't be a happy time, don't hate me for it pls, fair warning: I will touch on Fenris' past in this, lots of awkwardness and pining, lots of fluff, maybe the rating will go up later idk, no drama involved though, no major character deaths or anything, not into tragedy ok, this fic is pro-Anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehanjan/pseuds/coffeehanjan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I can't help but think of you</i>
  <br/>
  <i>In these four walls my thoughts seem to wander</i>
  <br/>
  <i>To some distant century</i>
  <br/>
  <i>When everyone we know is six feet under"</i>
</p><p>Modern Thedas AU where elves, dwarves, Qunari, magic, nugs, halla, and all that jazz still exist. </p><p>Garrett Hawke, local locksmith and handyman, nearly loses it when Bodahn's Hardware gets a new elven cashier. Lots of awkwardness and pining ensues on both ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've risen from the dead to write again! It's literally been over a year since I last updated anything. Life just... got away from me. My SnK stuff is still on indefinite hiatus.... I hope I can finish them some day, I really do :(
> 
> BUT! I started my FIFTH DA2 file last week and I hopped back on the Fenhawke train. I've been wanting a modern-with-magic AU forever now, so here we are! Updating will likely be sporadic, but I'm going to really put a lot of effort into seeing this through.
> 
> The title and the quote in the summary are from a line in the song "Skulls" by Bastille -- someone had it on a Fenhawke playlist a while back and every time I hear it my mind is instantly filled with nothing but those two.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, peering through the front window of Bodahn’s Hardware in what he hoped was a casual and not-at-all-creepy fashion. “You can do this.”

 

 A shock of white hair from within began to turn towards the window, and he ducked down with an undignified yelp. _Maker help him_.

 

Garrett Hawke could not believe that he, a 28-year-old man, was squatting in the middle of the Merchant’s Guild like a child trying not to get caught pilfering a piece of candy from the front counter at the pharmacy. The few passing dwarves’ expressions said as much.

 

Pretending that he was tying his boots (which really only had laces for show, but no one needed to know that), Hawke dusted himself off and stood up casually. Well, as casually as a six-foot-three lumberjack of a man could stand up after _that_ display. He spared a moment to glance at his reflection in the storefront glass and run a hand through his beard. Hmm, he was due for a trim soon. Hopefully the blasted elf who was causing all this distress saw him as _rugged_ , not _disheveled_ or _sloppy_. Not _I-just-spent-three-days-traipsing-around-Darktown-and-still-smell-just-as-dank-as-I-look_.

 

And that’s what all this hemming and hawing came down to, really. This elf. This stunning, white-haired elf who just started working at Bodahn’s a week ago. Hawke didn’t notice until he’d dumped his purchases on the counter while scratching his belly like a massive bear, thinking it would just be Sandal ringing him up.

 

But no, the Maker had a cruel sense of humor, apparently, because when he actually _looked_ at the person behind the counter, all the color drained from his face immediately, and he froze as still as that time Bethany accidentally cast a glyph of paralysis on him when practicing her magic at age 10. Instead of the top of Sandal’s very round and very blond head, Hawke was met with a swath of shocking white hair between two long, pointed ears.

 

He paused mid-scratch to gape at the stunning sight before him – because that was the only word flashing through his mind. _Stunning. STUNNING. Holy shit, he’s stunning._

 

The elf rang up Hawke’s items with a bemused smirk while Hawke’s brain short-circuited. He was on the tall side for an elf, but that probably still put him right around five-foot-five or six. His skin was a beautiful olive tone that spoke of a life up North – not anywhere near the Dales or even the Free Marches. More like somewhere in Antiva or Rivain – maybe even Tevinter. And this skin of his was covered in swirls of white, all the way from the tips of his fingers twining up his muscled forearms and underneath the sleeves of his black button-up. They reappeared at his neck and curled up over his chin. Hawke had never seen anything like it; he was completely awestruck.

 

“That’ll be five silvers and two coppers.” A smoky and gravelly voice broke Hawke’s trance and he felt his face flare up. _Oh Maker, that voice._

Hawke could feel that his mouth was still slightly agape, so he snapped it shut and shoved his hand in his pocket to dig out his coins. “Right,” he breathed, unable to turn away from those huge, green eyes. Only Merrill had eyes to rival these, and even hers were not quite the same intense shade of emerald. He realized in that moment that he was completely and utterly _fucked_.

 

Only when he’d shakily dropped the coins on the counter and collected his bag (full of duct tape and rope and extra large garbage bags – _Andraste don’t let him think I’m a serial killer,_ Hawke thought) did his eyes catch the small name tag pinned to his shirt. _Fenris_.

 

And so now that Hawke had a name for the beautiful elf at Bodahn’s, he felt a little bit more prepared this time. Although he’d spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to think of what he could buy that was sexy and alluring. Not much _sexy_ at the hardware store, unfortunately.

 

He _did_ take extra care picking out his outfit and grooming himself, though. Last time he was horrified to discover upon returning to his home that he’d been out in his pajamas – _pajamas, for fuck’s sake_ – like a deadbeat or a recluse or something. His Andrastian faith had lapsed long ago, but he considered taking up praying to her again if it meant avoiding a disaster like _that_. Maybe Sebastian would bless him to exorcise the Demon of Painful Awkwardness that clearly took up residence in his soul. Maybe he could convince Anders to let Justice give it a stern talking to.

 

_Maybe he could stop stalling like a pubescent creeper spying on his elf crush, hmm?_

 

Hawke steeled himself and pushed through the door before he could second guess himself. He actually just needed a few parts for one of his power drills, which he supposed was as sexy as one could get with hardware shopping. Isabela would likely disagree.

 

Face flushed from lingering too long on the word _hardware_ ( _damnit, Isabela_ ), Hawke made a beeline for aisle five, where he knew the parts to be. He also knew that there was the perfect view of the register from between the shelves if he stood at just the right angle. _Andraste save him_.

 

Fenris was leaning against the front counter, idly flipping through a magazine. Hawke peered through the shelf between drill pieces to see the title. It was a _motorcycle_ magazine. Maker, that was _hot as hell_. Unbidden, images of Fenris clad in skintight leather riding a sleek, black bike along the Wounded Coast assaulted Hawke’s brain. He could feel himself short-circuiting again.

 

_Does he have a motorcycle? Does he wear leather often? Is he... part of a_ gang? _That would explain the tattoos..._

 

Hawke was so absorbed in his thoughts (which had gone all the way up Sundermount and back and were about to speed off a cliff by the Bone Pit) when a hand slapped him on the lower back and an ungodly shriek left his lungs. He heard a huff of an amused chuckle from the front before it was lost under Bodahn’s worried chatter.

 

“Oh my, Messere Hawke! I didn’t mean to scare you like that! Are you all right?” The dwarf rubbed his hands together nervously as he peered up at Hawke.

 

Hawke managed to cough out something that could be interpreted as friendly laughter. “It’s all right, Bodahn, you just startled me is all. I was lost in thought over these... drill bits.” He gestured vaguely at the shelf in front of him.

 

“Can I help you find anything? We’ve got all sorts of pieces for nearly every kind of drill – it could take _ages_ to find just what you need. Why, just the other day we had this lovely Antivan fellow stop by and –“

 

Hawke held up a hand with a small smile. “Thank you, Bodahn, but I’ll manage. I just need a couple parts for one of my drills. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

 

“Right, then, I’ll just leave you to it,” Bodahn said. “Oh, by the way, how is Leandra doing? It’s been _ages_ since we’ve been to your home, and Sandal keeps asking about that Mabari pup of yours.” Bodahn paused in a moment of self-consciousness. “Oh! Not that I – um, I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m trying to invite ourselves over to your house. I’m sure Lady Leandra is awfully busy, as are you, and I don’t want to impose –“

 

Hawke found himself relaxing at the dwarf’s nervous chatter. “Bodahn, you are more than welcome to stop by any time you’d like. If not to chat with my mother, then to keep that hound of mine from dying of boredom. He doesn’t see much action these days, I’m afraid.”

 

Bodahn grinned up at him. “Thank you, Messere. We’d love to visit sometime.”

 

“Of course! Just... maybe ring up my mother ahead of time. She likes to flit about the house and spruce it up for guests, you know.”

 

“Will do! Now if you don’t mind, I need to grab some lunch for Sandal. I’ll be back in a bit, but my new cashier can help you if you need anything at all.” Bodahn leaned around the shelf to call, “Right, Fenris?”

 

“Yes, sir. I am here if needed,” the deep, quiet voice replied. And, _oh_ , Hawke was going to melt into a puddle. Fuck.

 

“ _ThanksbutI’mgoodfornow_ ,” Hawke squeaked. _Squeaked_. Damn, and his face was probably just as red as his shirt right now. Thank the Maker these shelves were in the way. Since when did he start thanking and/or cursing the Maker so much? This was getting out of hand.

 

After a good fifteen minutes of standing in aisle five with the pieces he needed in his large, sweaty hands, Hawke finally mustered up the courage to walk up to the front counter. He was _prepared_ this time.

 

Those large, green eyes flicked up to meet his, and _damn it all, he was NOT prepared_. “Did you find everything you need?” Fenris asked, his tone flat and unaffected. Totally unfair.

 

“Yep,” Hawke breathed, wiling his voice into anything but a Maker-forsaken _squeak_.

 

“Then your total is twenty-five silvers and ten coppers.” Those slender hands began to package the drill bits with practiced ease. Hawke was mesmerized, so it took him a minute to process what he’d just heard.

 

“Wait a second,” he said, fingers paused over the coins in his palm. “I could’ve sworn those were twenty-five a piece. My total should be over fifty silvers.” Wow, he was actually forming _full sentences_. It helped that his eyes were fixated on the elf’s hands, not his face.

 

He chanced a glance up at Fenris’s face and, _yep, that was a mistake_. There was an amused tilt to the corner of his mouth, and Hawke wondered how he had missed those plush and _utterly kissable_ lips up until now.

 

“Bodahn’s orders,” Fenris replied coolly. “He said to make sure the ‘giant human with the beard who is probably wearing red’ gets a 50% discount.” Fenris’s smile faltered with a flash of shyness. “He, uh, also said to make sure that your name is ‘Hawke’, but I, um... I overheard you talking earlier, so I figured he meant you.”

 

Hawke barked out in laughter, and it felt like most of his nerves were released into the air with it. “How kind of him! Now I _definitely_ need to invite him and his son over for dinner again.” He paused to count his money out properly. “Did he... did he say _why_ I get such a good deal?”

 

Fenris chuckled as he deposited the coins into the register. “Just that you give him more business than anyone else in Hightown, and that your mother makes the best damned apple tart he’d ever tasted.”

 

Hawke grinned and picked up his bag. “Ah, yes, it is absolutely _divine_ if I do say so myself. I’m lucky she hasn’t kicked me out of the house yet – I think she likes the company.”

 

Another crooked smile from the elf. _How was Hawke still standing at this point?_ He was running on pure adrenaline. On a Fenris high. “I’m jealous. Apples are my favorite.”

 

“Yes, well –“ Hawke choked, his face feeling like it was as red as the apples in his kitchen right now. “It does nothing for my figure, I’ll say that much!” He laughed a little too loudly and awkwardly patted his belly, and it felt like he was suddenly watching himself from about five feet away in abject horror. _What. Is. Wrong. With. You????_

 

He pretended not to notice how Fenris’s eyes flicked up and down the line of his body as if to confirm. _Whoo boy. I’m done for,_ Hawke thought. He almost didn’t hear the whispered, “I wouldn’t say that,” due to the buzzing in his ears that was like a siren warning that he had thirty seconds until meltdown. He had to escape with his dignity (mostly) intact.

 

“Well, _Fenris_ ,” he said, emphasizing the name by pointedly looking at his name tag. As if he hadn’t had that name floating around in his head constantly since the last time he was here. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. I come here so often it’s like my second home!”

 

Fenris nodded with another small smile. “I’ll see you around, _Hawke_.”

 

That was it. He _had_ to get out of there. Hawke used his free hand to wave as he hurried out the front door and made a beeline to his house out of fear that he’d collapse otherwise. Which he did, as soon as he stepped through the threshold, where Pancake greeted him with enough slobber to fill the Waking Sea.

 

As he sat there in the foyer of the Amell Estate pondering just how completely and utterly _fucked_ he was, Lady Nightingale’s “A Shadow in the Sun” (the B-side to her hit single “Marjolaine”) cut through his thoughts. He pulled the phone out of his back pocket after some undignified wiggling and answered the call.

 

“Isabela,” he whined. “I am absolutely, completely, utterly _fucked_.”

 

The reply was a soft and sultry purr of, “Oh, Kitten – _do tell_!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke heads to the Hanged Man for advice. He almost regrets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I should probably space these chapters out. But honestly, I just want to get them posted before I chicken out or forget about them. My access to a laptop is kind of limited, too, so I'm just gonna dump these all here as I write them.

 

Here’s the thing about Isabela.

 

Hawke adored his boisterous friend. He really did. But sometimes her “advice” was a little... well... _forward_ for Hawke.

 

This was painfully evident the moment Hawke walked in the door of The Hanged Man and Isabela shouted from behind the bar, “Hawke! Get your ass over here and tell me _exactly_ how you want to bend that elf over the counter at Bodahn’s and –“

 

Hawke was across the room with a hand over Isabela’s mouth in an instant. If only he had the power to teleport to wherever he was being publicly humiliated and defend his honor all the time. Too bad he was born without magic.

 

“ _Andraste’s ass, Isabela_!” Hawke hissed. “Just announce all of my perversions to the world, why don’t you?”

 

Isabela’s mirthful golden eyes crinkled back at him as she pulled his hand off her face. “Oh, Kitten, you _know_ how I’d love to. But unfortunately for me, you’re always stingy on the details of these _perversions_.”

 

Hawke plopped down on a bar stool and shook his head. “Nope. Too sober for this. I need alcohol _immediately_.”

 

Isabela threw her head back in a friendly cackle. “Now we’re talking! I’ll fix you a Siren’s Call and you can tell me all about your... _hardware_ situation.”

 

Before Hawke could protest this over-the-top innuendo (like he didn’t know it was coming), Isabela twirled around and began mixing the drink. It was an original cocktail of hers – it was full of a ridiculous amount of liquor that you couldn’t even taste, so it was easy to overdo it. Hawke found that out the hard way. It was a Feastday to remember, that’s for sure.

 

“Oh? What’s this I hear about Hawke’s _hardware_?” A smooth voice cut in above the bar chatter, and Hawke buried his face in his hands.

 

“ _Please,_ Varric...” Hawke whined. Varric chuckled and climbed into the seat next to him.

 

“Hey, I need material for a sequel to _Hard in Hightown_. The people want to know what happens next!” Varric made a quick motion to Isabela, and she paused her drink mixing to pour him a double shot of straight whiskey. The good stuff, of course.

 

“See what I have to deal with, Varric?” Isabela sighed. “I called up Hawke to make sure he didn’t skip out on Wicked Grace tonight and he starts wailing about this _beautiful_ and _stunning_ and _incredibly sexy_ elf he’s found at Bodahn’s. Now I’m just trying to weasel the details out of him.”

 

“Isabela!” Hawke moaned, forehead now on the bar. When he lifted his head to pick up his drink, it stuck a little to the surface. Gross.

 

“Hawke, in all honesty I’m just glad you found someone to pursue.” Isabela put her hands on her hips as if to garner some level of authority. “I mean, after all that mess with that Fereldan Mabari breeder who rolled through town a few years back –“

 

“Please don’t remind me!”

 

“I’m interested in the mysterious man who captured my delicate little Hawkey’s heart!” She leaned over the bar, and if Hawke weren’t exclusively into men, her excessive cleavage might have been distracting. “So please, in all seriousness, do tell.”

 

“Yes, Hawke, _do tell_ ,” Varric snickered, although there was warmth behind the dwarf’s eyes that put Hawke at ease. But only a little.

 

He took a fortifying gulp of his drink before speaking. “He’s... he’s an elf.” He ignored the pointed and impatient stares from his companions, continuing before they could chime in with a ‘we know’. “And he has white hair and green eyes and these _tattoos_ all over his body and his voice – Maker, his voice is just... incredible. And I made a total ass out of myself the first time I saw him. I was in _pajamas_ and I probably had coffee teeth and crumbs in my beard... I was caught so off-guard! I was expecting to see Sandal! I don’t dress up to see Sandal!”

 

Isabela and Varric were both grinning from ear-to-ear as Hawke prattled on. “His name is Fenris. I’m not sure where he’s from... he doesn’t strike me as Dalish (and that name doesn’t sound very Dalish, but what do I know?) and his skin is darker, so I’m thinking he came from somewhere up North.”

 

“Does he drive a motorcycle?” Isabela asked, feigning innocence but failing to hide the mischief in her eyes.

 

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “Yes! What – how did you - ? Well, I’m not entirely sure, but he reads motorcycle magazines so I _assumed_ –“ He pointed an accusing finger in her direction. “But how did you know? Have you been spying on me? On him??” Hawke’s mind raced with the possibilities. Of images of Isabela, dressed in black and sneaking around the shelves of Bodahn’s with binoculars. He wouldn’t put it past her, really.

 

Isabela couldn’t hold her laughter in anymore. “Oh, Hawke, you are incredibly fun to tease.”

 

“Agreed,” Varric chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey.

 

“But all joking aside, I _do_ know him, Kitten. Met him in Rialto a few years back.” Hawke’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his face. Isabela hesitated, then took Hawke’s giant hand in hers. “We... don’t take this the wrong way, love, but we _did_ have a toss in the hay once. It was pure fun – nothing serious. I was on my way out of Antiva City, already missing Zevran – you know how it is. We met in a bar, one thing led to another, and... that was that. I hopped on a boat and headed down South, and he continued on wherever he was going. Funny that we both ended up in Kirkwall, of all places.”

 

Hawke’s face fell, and Isabela offering a comforting squeeze to his hand did little to lift his spirits. “Ah, well... of _course_ he’d be straight, just my luck,” Hawke laughed bitterly. Isabela smacked his head a little harder than was considered friendly.

 

“Shame on you, Hawke!” she chastised, her tone growing gentler. “Never assume! You have nothing to fear – he likes men just as much as I do. We’re quite alike, actually.”

 

Hawke had difficulty hiding the relief that flooded his face. It was almost immediately replaced with a pained expression. “Alike? Please don’t tell me that under that stoic exterior, he’s just as bawdy as you.”

 

Isabela laughed. “Not quite as bad as me, but... you’d be surprised. He’s far from a prude. As you can see, he’s up for one-night stands, but I think he has relationship potential. With the right person, of course.”

 

“I can see it now – the _stoic_ elf, untamed in the realm of romance, felled by the dashing human hero. They fight crime by day and share sweet nothings at night,” Varric joked, pulling out his phone to take notes. Ok, maybe not joking.

 

“Maker’s breath, I _can’t_ -“

 

“So,” Isabela prodded, giving Hawke’s forearm a poke and effectively changing the tone of the conversation. “Give him a ring! I haven’t seen that man in ages. I’d love to catch up and watch you two make eyes at each other.”

 

Hawke gulped down the rest of his drink. “Do you think the Total Mess that is Garrett Hawke was able to ask for his _number_? I’m hurt - it’s like you don’t even know me, Isabela!”

 

Isabela shook her head and rubbed her temples. “I should have _known_. Hawke, you _will_ get Fenris’s number and you _will_ invite him to play Wicked Grace the next time you see him.” Her eyes flashed. “Otherwise I’ll have to take things into my own hands.”

 

Hawke sobered almost immediately. “No! I- I can do it. Maybe. If I don’t puke all over myself from nerves.”

 

Varric put his hand on Hawke’s arm. “Can’t Bethany or Anders work some magic on you? Or maybe Merrill can whip up some kind of fortification potion for you. Just drink it before you go inside and bam! Instant Casanova.”

 

Hawke shook his head. “That... just seems like a terrible idea. Knowing my luck, whatever concoction or spell would give me crippling diarrhea or turn me into a snarling werewolf or something.” He shuddered. “Not that I don’t have faith in my friends. It’s just – I don’t have very good luck with those things.”

 

Suddenly he was having a flashback to foolishly agreeing to be Merrill’s guinea pig when she first started working at Eluvian, the potions shop down by the Alienage in Lowtown. Even though her skill had much improved since then, he had learned his lesson. Sometimes just seeing the color orange made him nauseous.

 

“Well, just know that I will hound you until you do, Kitten.”

 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Hawke frowned into his empty glass. “Now please, pour me another. I need a distraction from all of... this.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Varric chuckled, raising his own glass as Isabela turned to make Hawke another drink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A serendipitous meeting on the subway home...

**Reference : Subway Map of Kirkwall ** _(image edited by me)_

 

Hawke wished there was a direct subway line into Hightown from the Hanged Man. But, as with any city, when the subway lines were developed, Hightown was _adamant_ about keeping Lowtown and Darktown riff-raff out by limiting easy access by public transit. Elitist assholes.

 

So, instead of being able to use one easy interconnected subway system, Hawke had to take the Lowtown Line from outside The Hanged Man all the way across the bay out to the Gallows, then switch to the Hightown Line and cross back over the bay _again_ to get to Hightown Estates. He supposed other cities were much more complicated, but it still bothered him that he had to cross the bay _twice_ just to get to Hightown, instead of going straight up the mountain from Darktown.

 

In any case, it was past 2 AM and Hawke was still buzzed from his night in The Hanged Man. He had waited with Merrill for her train (which was headed in the opposite direction) before joining Anders on the train headed for the Docks. They stood in companionable silence near the doors, both too tired to chat for the few minutes between stations.

 

Anders got off at the Docks to make his transfer, and Hawke was left alone with his thoughts. Just as the doors were closing, a slender figure slipped through and sighed with relief. Hawke was staring at the ground, so it took him a minute to process the bare feet across from his. Bare feet with _white tattoos_.

 

Hawke snapped to attention and found himself eye-to-eye (or, well – eye-to-forehead, really) with Fenris. Before he could stop himself, Hawke exclaimed, “Oh, it’s you!”

 

Fenris offered a tired smile. “Hello, Hawke.”

 

“I didn’t know you rode the subway!” Hawke couldn’t stop himself. The alcohol loosened his tongue. “I thought you had a motorcycle.”

 

Fenris’s eyes flashed with surprise, and Hawke quickly realized his error. “Ah, I, uh- I mean... earlier, you were, um. You had a... magazine? With a motorcycle? So I thought... Yeah.” His palms were getting sweaty again. He tried to wipe them surreptitiously on his jeans, but Fenris’s eyes followed the movement. Damn.

 

“You’re... quite observant,” Fenris replied. “I do own a motorcycle. But the way Kirkwall is set up, it’s not... it’s not a very convenient mode of transportation. It’s often faster to just take a train.”

 

The subway pulled in to The Gallows and Hawke felt panicked – he had promised Isabela he’d get Fenris’s number the next time he saw him. He had to act fast. “I’ve uh, I’ve got to transfer here, so...”

 

Fenris adjusted the strap of a shoulder bag he was carrying. Black, of course, like the rest of his clothing. “Ah, I do too. I need to take the Hightown Line.”

 

This piqued Hawke’s interest. “O-oh, really? Me too. Where are you headed?” The doors whooshed open and Hawke gestured for Fenris to disembark first. Fenris gave a barely-there nod of thanks and stepped off the train, his eyes turned down and his cheeks slightly flushed. Hawke wondered if that was from the breeze of the subway tunnel, or... No. No way. He just wasn’t used to the chilly Kirkwall air, surely.

 

They fell into step towards the escalator below the blue sign marked “To Hightown Line”. Again, Hawke let Fenris on the stairs first and was thanked with another bemused smile. He couldn’t help it – he just... wanted to be chivalrous, suddenly. Was that so odd? He hoped not.

 

“I’m going to Hightown Estates.” Fenris turned to look at Hawke on the escalator behind him, and thanks to the steps, they were now exactly at eye level. “...You?”

 

It took Hawke a moment to realize that Fenris had asked him a question. To be fair, his voice was quiet and his eyes were terribly distracting. “Oh! Me? I’m... Me, too! I’m also going to Hightown Estates, that is. I live there.”

 

“Ah, so we’re neighbors, then?” Fenris smirked. Hawke suddenly felt dizzy and was glad for the steady handrail of the escalator.

 

“Neighbors? You... live there too?”

 

Fenris glanced around like he was suddenly afraid of divulging too much information, but then he softened when his eyes rested on Hawke again. “Yes, near the Chantry.”

 

“Ah, I’m just around the corner from the Merchant’s Guild. Just a hop, skip and a jump away from Bodahn’s!” Hawke laughed nervously as they stepped off the escalator. They walked in companionable silence to the Hightown Line platform and waited for the next train.

 

“So... you haven’t been around Kirkwall long, I take it?” Hawke ventured, worried that he was prying too much. “I mean, you haven’t been working for Bodahn long, at least.”

 

Fenris hummed in affirmation. “Yes, I’ve been traveling for the past few years. I haven’t settled in one place for too long.” With a bit of difficulty, as if he was challenging himself to be more sociable than he was used to, Fenris continued. “Most recently, I was in Nevarra, but... I’ve been through most of Thedas at one time or another.”

 

Hawke smiled. “Ah, I’ve never been farther north than here. I don’t know much about it except that it must be... _hot_.” Isabela’s voice cackled in his head. Damn that woman. Hawke struggled to recover quickly. Maybe if he didn’t lose his momentum, that awkward moment would be forgotten. “I’m Ferelden, born and bred! From Lothering, actually. My mother was from Kirkwall, so we- she, my brother, my sister and I- moved here after- uh, after my father passed.”

 

Fenris’s eyes softened. “Ah, I see. Do you like it here, or do you miss Ferelden? I have never been farther south than Orlais.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Hawke chuckled. “You just said you’d been all over Thedas! How is Ferelden not part of Thedas? It’s one of the larger countries!”

 

“Oh, you know what I mean. All over Thedas north of the Waking Sea.”

 

Hawke could feel a cheeky grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Well that narrows it down quite a bit. Not as worldly as you’d have me believe, eh?” Fenris’s cheeks tinged pink, but he returned the smile as the subway train pulled in. “But yeah, I do miss Ferelden. It’s- it’s where I grew up. But my family is here, so I consider Kirkwall my home now.”

They stepped into the subway car and stood together near the door. “Hmm, must be nice to have somewhere to plant your roots.”

 

“Well, you never know! Kirkwall can be a shithole sometimes, but it has a way of growing on you,” Hawke replied. “You might end up planting some roots here one day.”

 

Fenris turned a soft smile to Hawke – it started with a crinkle at the corner of his eyes and finished with a delicate tug of the left side of his lips. Still guarded and quick, but... gentler, somehow. More open. “Maybe,” he whispered, voice edging on wistful.

 

They finished the train ride listening to the steady rattle of the rails below, letting the swaying car lull them into comfortable quiet. It was only when they stepped off the train that Hawke remembered his mission.

 

“Oh!” he cried, and Fenris sent him a puzzled look over his shoulder. Hawke ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I’m sorry- I just, uh. I almost forgot.” Fenris tilted his head in question. “So, I, uh... I think we have a mutual friend. Or, well. Something like that.”

 

At this, Fenris furrowed his eyebrows and stopped walking. “Mutual friend? But I hardly know anyone in Kirkwall.”

 

“You know Bodahn. And Sandal!”

 

Fenris snorted and Hawke thought it was the most adorable thing ever. Maker take him now. “They don’t count. Is that who you mean?”

 

“No, no... I have this friend. From Rivain! Her name is Isabela and she’s absolutely mad. She says she... uh, she met you once in Rialto.”

 

Fenris’s eyebrows shot upwards at that. “Isabela? How... how did you make _that_ connection?”

 

Hawke began wringing his hands, suddenly wondering if this was actually the best way to approach this. Maybe he should’ve left her out of it. But it would come up either way, so... he forged ahead as they continued to walk out of the station.

 

“I, uh... mentioned that Bodahn had a new cashier – and before you think I’m weird for it, you have to understand – in my entire time in Kirkwall, I’ve never known Bodahn to have any employees other than Sandal. So it’s a big change in my life! I had to share it with all my friends because I have just _that_ little going on in my life.”

 

Fenris coughed and it sounded suspiciously like he was trying to stifle a laugh. Cheeky bastard.

 

“Anyway, when I described you to her earlier, she told me all about when you two met in Rialto.” His cheeks reddened enough to be seen in the low street lamps at the implication there. He... didn’t want to elaborate on just how much she’d divulged. He didn’t want to make things _uncomfortable_. “She was shocked to hear that you both ended up in Kirkwall. And she’s _insisting_ that I bring you in to catch up and play cards with our regular group.”

 

“She’s insisting, is she?” Fenris chuckled.

 

“Well, yes, but... only because she thinks you’d get on well with our friends. They’re a rambunctious group, but she assures me that you’ll fit right in. No pressure or anything! And, I mean, of course I’d like to get to know you, too. So. Yeah. You should join us sometime! If you want to.” Hawke willed his mouth to _stop moving_ because his rambling was getting ridiculous.

 

Fenris looked more amused than anything. “Sure. When?”

 

Hawke’s face lit up like a torch at that. “Um, well... we don’t really have set ‘game nights’ or anything. We just text each other and meet up at The Hanged Man every now and then. I could... I could, um. Let you know. Next time we have a game? I could... uh. Text. You. If that’s ok.”

 

“Are you... asking for my number, Hawke?” They were stopped under a street lamp now, and Hawke felt like he was in a scene from one of Varric’s romance novels. He felt lightheaded at the mere idea of it.

 

“Yes...?” he breathed, unable to make his voice any louder.

 

“All right. Let me see your phone. I’ll program my number in.”

 

Hawke snapped into action, fumbling to grab his phone out of his back pocket as quickly as possible. “Uh yeah! Sure! Just let me, uh... hold on a second...” His hands were shaking with nerves, his palms slick with sweat. He managed to unlock his phone (oh _Maker_ did he have time to change his phone wallpaper before Fenris saw his _ridiculous_ selfie that Pancake photobombed at the last second? No? _Shit_ ) and hand it over.

 

Fenris couldn’t hold back another snort at the wallpaper – it was lots of beard and lots of gleeful Mabari and limited clarity – before he tapped his phone number in and pressed call. Lady Nightingale’s “Huntress from Val Royeaux” began to play, and Fenris reached in his pocket to save Hawke’s number.

 

“You... you like Lady Nightingale?” Hawke asked as Fenris returned his phone.

 

“Yes, quite a bit actually. I find her music very... haunting.”

 

“I’m not even joking when I say that the only travel I’ve ever done was to follow her on tour through Ferelden and Orlais when I was 18,” Hawke whispered. “I spent every coin I’d saved from my job just to hear her sing live at all 7 venues. I just. She’s incredible. I don’t remember life before her music.”

 

“That’s... impressive,” Fenris replied, a little taken aback at the sudden intensity in Hawke’s demeanor.

 

“I’m sorry, that was – that was weird, wasn’t it? I don’t mean to scare you off, I just... my friends make fun of me for liking her so much. It’s nice to meet another fan.”

 

“Likewise,” Fenris smirked. He shifted his weight between feet, as if he didn’t like stand in one place for too long. “I... hate to cut our chat short, but I really need to get back.”

 

“Ah! Right!” Hawke took a step back and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry to keep you! I, uh, I’ll let you know when our next cards night is, yeah?”

 

“Then I will look forward to hearing from you, Hawke,” Fenris replied, slipping his own phone into his bag. “I’ll see you later.”

 

Hawke offered a little wave, even if his whole body ached to hug him. No, they weren’t at that stage yet. Hopefully someday they’d reach that stage. Eventually. The hugging stage. The mere thought gave him pleasant chills, so he tried not to dwell on it to preserve his dignity. He hated being such an open book sometimes.

 

He watched Fenris disappear down the dark street, his tattoos giving off a faint glow. That was... odd, to say the least. He had never seen white Vallaslin before. He wondered if it was some kind of special ink, or something different altogether. He’d have to ask when they knew each other better.

 

But first, he owed Isabela a phone call.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of a locksmith. Also, Hawke musters up the courage to invite Fenris out for cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am at this terrible conference right now, so instead of letting it devour my soul I'm making like the guidance counselor in 10 Things I Hate About You and writing fic. 
> 
> Well, it's nice to finally get some uninterrupted writing time! I might bust out another chapter if I'm lucky ;)
> 
> **Also: THM = The Hanged Man

 

Hawke stared at the blank message screen on his phone. The cursor blinked at him tauntingly as he tried to compose the most important text message of his life so far.

 

_Hey!! It’s Garrett Hawke. From Bodahn’s? And the train? How are you?? I was just letting you know that the gang is getting together for Diamondback tomorrow night and I thought maybe you might want to come. If you want! No pressure!! Just let me know if you do!_

 

He cringed at his first attempt. Too long, too... juvenile. _The gang? Really? Chill out, Scooby Doo._

 

_Hey! It’s Garrett. What’s up? We’re playing Diamondback tomorrow night and I thought you might want to come!! Let me know – I can teach you how to play if you don’t know already :)_

 

He frowned again. Still too dorky. Not quite right.

 

_Hey, we’re playing Diamondback at THM tomorrow night. Wanna join in?_

 

Isabela had assured him that short and sweet was the way to go. She had also suggested a variety of sexy emoticons to sprinkle throughout his message, but he didn’t want to venture into uncharted waters. No, better to stick with what he knew. Biting his lip, Hawke hit “send” before he could chicken out.

 

The next ten minutes was spent in sweaty, nerve-wracking agony. Or, that’s what it felt like, anyway. Hawke tried to distract himself by sending Bethany a picture of Pancake – she couldn’t check her phone very often while at the Circle, but he figured she would appreciate the thought.

 

He wouldn’t be able to see her until Feastday, and then Santinalia when she was allowed home for the holiday. Carver would be home, too, but... well. He always just holed up in his bedroom while visiting home from the Order. Ever since puberty, Carver’s personal life had become somewhat of a mystery to his siblings. Hawke wondered if he had been that moody as a teenager.

 

Just as his thoughts were drifting into the mortifying (flashbacks of every single embarrassing moment of his adolescence were rising to the surface – that time he fainted at a class presentation? Check. Accidentally punching his crush in the face in the fourth grade? Double check), his memories were interrupted by the sound of a hawk screech (yep... that was his text tone – Varric’s idea, actually). He snatched his phone off of the bed and unlocked it to read the text message.

 

**_Isabela_ **

_Did u text Fenris yet?? Pls tell me ur making out w him rn :*_

 

Hawke groaned. He needed this agony to be over as soon as possible. He began to type furiously.

 

**_You_ **

_YES I texted him I’m waiting for a reply ok_

 

He tossed his phone back on the bed and flopped on his back. Pancake put his chin on Hawke’s leg and whined quietly.

 

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to the dog, reaching down to pet the soft, pointed ears. His phone shrieked again, and Pancake perked up with interest.

 

**_Isabela_ **

_Pls tell me u didnt send him a novel?? U type way too much!_

**_You_ **

_Thank you for your vote of confidence, bghhhy_

 

In the middle of his reply to Isabela, Hawke was startled by an incoming message. His heart was in his throat. The name _Fenris_ popped up at the top of his screen.

 

**_Isabela_ **

_??? wtf_

**_You_ **

_OH GOD HE TEXTED ME BACK WHAT DO I DO_

**_Isabela_ **

_um answer it ofc??? wat did he say??_

 

Hawke closed the tab of his messages with Isabela and took a shaky breath. He selected Fenris’s name and wiped the sweat off his palm before reading it.

 

**_Fenris_ **

_Sure. What time?_

 

Hawke’s hands shook as he typed out his reply.

 

**_You_ **

_Around 8 - everyone always says they’ll be there at 7, but I’ve spent enough nights waiting for them to show up to know better._

**_Fenris_ **

_Ha. I know the feeling. Ok, I’ll see you then :)_

**_You_ **

_Yeah, see you tomorrow!! :)_

  
Hawke let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It may or may not have ended with a squeak. Fenris had sent him a smiley face. A smiley face!!

 

“Ok, I got this,” he whispered to himself. Pancake, agitated that the attention was _not_ on him at the moment, swatted at Hawke’s leg imploringly with his paw. “Yes, yes I _know_ it’s time for your dinner, you incorrigible hound!”

 

Now he just had to psych himself _up_ – not _out_.

 

\--

 

Hawke sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow as he tried, once more, to coax the deadbolt in front of him into opening. Vincento, the Antivan tailor in Lowtown, had lost his keys and needed to get inside _immediately_. _Every second_ was lost business, he assured Hawke.

 

Hawke had been inside Vincento’s Northern Merchandise before. In his opinion, it hadn’t been anything to write home about. He’d rather pay a bit more coin for better quality leather, honestly. He doubted anyone was clamoring to spend their money here first thing in the morning.

 

“So who installed this deadbolt again?” Hawke asked through gritted teeth. “Because these screws on the security plate are only about one inch deep and the bolt doesn’t seem to actually reach the fully locked position.”

 

Vincento huffs in annoyance. “The contractor who renovated my shop, of course. Some dwarf with excellent craftsmanship – only the best for my shop.”

 

 _‘Some dwarf’, huh?_ Hawke thought. _Damn Antivans think they’re such hot shit..._ Hawke could feel the corners of his mouth pull down in a grimace. _Customer service face, Garrett! Customer service face!!_

 

Hawke schooled his features into neutral territory, which was the best he could do at the moment. “Well, for future reference, you should really have a proper locksmith install your locks. No matter how skilled the contractor, they often lack the expertise to install quality locks.”

 

Vincento crossed his arms in a defensive stance. “I was assured by this _dwarf_ that this lock was impenetrable.”

 

By this point, Hawke had successfully removed the entire deadbolt – the shoddy installation job had made it impossible to simply unlock without damaging it. He sighed and ran a hand through the messy tangle of hair. This felt like an omen for his day to come. Maker, he hoped not.

 

“Not to say that you didn’t find a truly skilled craftsman to renovate your shop, but I’ve found that a lot of contractors will say anything to squeeze more coin out of you.” _Just like you try to squeeze as much coin out of poor saps who have never seen_ true _Antivan leather_. “And no lock is absolutely _impenetrable_ – just some are harder to open than others. I can install a solid deadbolt for you right now, but I will have to charge you for materials and time above and beyond the service charge of 25 sovereigns.”

 

Vincento’s face pinched with distaste. “How much?”

 

“Usually this process will take me about 30 minutes, since I have to readjust the height of the bolt’s ‘pocket’ in the door frame. Adding in materials... I’d estimate about 55 sovereigns total.”

 

Vincento rubbed his temples and sighed. “I suppose that’s reasonable. Please, go ahead while I open up shop for the day.”

 

Hawke had anticipated more of a fight, so he was pleasantly surprised that he could actually get to work on the new deadbolt. He felt himself ascend into a zen-like state as he went through the familiar motions of drilling and screwing. Ha. If only his life had more _drilling_ and _screwing_ of an intimate nature.

 

Immediately flashes of white hair and dark skin and glowing tattoos flooded his brain and he stubbed his thumb on the doorframe. His face flushed and he furrowed his brow to initiate some kind of laser focus on the task at hand. It wouldn’t do to make a shoddy installation after all that talk with Vincento about only trusting locksmiths with locks. He couldn’t let the Hawke name be tarnished because of a preoccupation with a beautiful, mysterious, out-of-this-world... _Nope. There I go again. Nope nope nope, this needs to stop immediately_.

 

Hawke summoned a vivid memory of Pancake that time he caught a bird, ate it, then later defecated an entire intact talon. He shuddered, remembering how he’d gagged at the sight when it happened. And though he was about to start dry heaving now, at least he wasn’t distracted by a sexy elf.

 

Hawke installed Vincento’s new lock without further incident, and packed up to be on his not-so-merry way as soon as the gold was in his hands. The moment he stepped out the door, his phone rang (with his _business_ ringtone – not Lady Nightingale, who was reserved for friends and elves-of-interest only). It was a lockout call in The Gallows, so he hopped on the Lowtown Line and arrived at Cavril’s Wares in about 20 minutes.

 

Outside the shop stood a portly, balding man arguing with two of Hawke’s competitors – he recognized both Jarvia, the sharp-tongued and serious dwarf with a lovely tattoo on her right cheek, and his friend Tallis, a quick-witted (and frankly nerdy) Qunari elf. Both ladies appeared _very_ unamused.

 

“Ah, I see the party’s started without me,” Hawke joked as he approached the small group. Tallis gave a friendly little wave as Jarvia threw up her hands.

 

“Seriously, dude? You called _three_ of us?” Jarvia exclaimed. Hawke had never seen her so upset, which did not bode well for this Cavril fellow.

 

“Well I wanted to get the best price!” Cavril whined, wringing his hands furiously. “Who could blame me for that?”

 

“I can,” Hawke grumbled under his breath.

 

“I say we leave him here and all invoice him for the service call,” Tallis yawned, checking her watch as she did so. “Waste of my damn time, honestly. I was at the _best part_ of my favorite game! Right when I seal the deal with that hunky alien assassin, and I had to stop playing for _this_? No bueno, buddy.”

 

“Ah,” Hawke laughed. “Now you’ve done it, Cavril.”

 

“I like this idea,” Jarvia growled. Hawke made a mental note to never get on her bad side. _Ever_.

 

“But- but you can’t charge me for services you haven’t performed yet!” Cavril was _literally_ stamping his feet like a spoiled child. _Really_?

 

“Ah, but we can!” Tallis pointed out. “If you bothered to actually _read_ any of our websites, they all say that you will be charged for a service call even if we don’t need to perform any lock picking. So, joke’s on you!” Hawke decided Tallis was having _way_ too much fun with this.

 

“So it’s settled, then?” Hawke asked, taking note of the shopkeeper’s address.

 

“You’ll be hearing from my attorney!” Cavril squawked, already dialing what was likely _another_ locksmith.

 

“Yeah, well, then you’ll be hearing from _mine_ ,” Jarvia replied. “Bhelen Aeducan. Maybe you’ve heard of him? He’ll drag your ass all the way down to the Deep Roads if you try to contest this.”

 

Cavril’s face lost its color in an instant. “Well then you’ll each get a nasty review on Yelp!”

 

“Ooh, I’ve never heard _that_ before,” Tallis laughed. “I’m shaking in my boots!”

 

They all turned to walk away from the inconsiderate shop owner. Hawke clapped his hands together. “Well, ladies, it was wonderful to see you again. Please don’t take it the wrong way when I say we should never do this again.”

 

Jarvia shook her head. “You got that right. Blighted nug-humping piece of-“

 

“But we _should_ go for drinks sometime,” Tallis interjected, throwing her arms around their shoulders. “Swap wackiest locksmith stories. Get plastered. Wake up somewhere near the Bone Pit.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hawke laughed, not entirely sure how serious she was. Well, as long as she was between video games, Tallis was usually up for anything.

 

“I’ll pass,” Jarvia drawled. “I’m so damn busy juggling two businesses at once. It’s a nightmare.”

 

“All the more reason to let loose!” Tallis implored. Hawke shook his head.

 

“Let it go, Tallis. Jarvia will come to you if she changes her mind.”

 

Jarvia gave a curt nod. “That’s why I like you, Hawke. Underneath all that bumbling you’re very good at reading people. Tallis, you should take notes.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Thanks!”

 

They parted ways at the train station, and Hawke was left to mentally prepare himself for 8:00. It really took him all day to get ready for this kind of thing. Pathetic? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.

 

Around 7:00, Hawke’s phone screeched, startling him out of his trance in front of the mirror where he was trying (and not really succeeding) to tame his hair. He wasn’t going to go all Sebastian with the hair gel, but... well... he needed _some_ level of control over it.

 

He swiped his phone unlocked to reveal the message.

 

_**Isabela** _

_It’s showtime, luv <3_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris meets the squad! He meshes well with some, but for others... it's like oil and water. Oh well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo.... I sat down to write a SUPER fluffy chapter, but it took a turn for the "uncomfortable conversations" part of the slice-of-life genre. I was going to make the Fenris-meets-Anders scene more lighthearted, but when I really thought about it... I think the fact that in this AU magic still exists and Tevinter's history is still so dark means that their meeting will be uncomfortable, no matter what.
> 
> THAT BEING SAID. I love Anders. I really do. In this AU I see him as the tired but passionate social justice (mage and animal rights) advocate... who tends to get tunnel vision and puts his foot in his mouth every so often. So although the interaction with him in this scene is uncomfortable, know that I'm not trying to villify him!

 

Hawke peeked at his phone under the table for what was probably the fifteenth time. Varric was patiently teaching Merrill the rules of Diamondback – she had only recently come to fully grasp how to play Wicked Grace after almost losing a clan talisman to Isabela on a bad bet. Varric, kind heart that he was, decided that she deserved some extra help to avoid a similar mistake.

 

He was hoping it was discreet enough, but apparently not. Isabela slapped him on the wrist playfully. “Bad boy! No phone crutch! If I catch you looking at that damned thing one more time you’re going in time-out, mister.”

 

“Isabela,” Hawke whined, drawing out the “a” at the end. “I just... I need to know how much time I have. To prepare. Mentally. You know how I am.”

 

Isabela tsked and took a quick sip of her drink. “The more you check that phone, the more excruciatingly slowly time will pass. _Trust me_.” Hawke began rubbing the condensation on his glass with one large finger, chin resting on the table petulantly. “Besides, it’s only quarter to eight. _Aveline_ isn’t even here yet, and she’s always on time!”

 

Hawke frowned and sighed, his breath fogging up his beer glass again. “I guess you’re right. I should stop thinking about it. Then before I know it, he’ll be here.” His frown deepened. “Here. With me. Playing cards. Ha. Haha. _Oh Maker_...”

 

“Garrett, I’m very excited to meet your handsome elf friend,” Merrill chirped from behind her cards. “Isabela tells me he is absolutely _lovely_!”

 

Hawke sat up to give Merrill a small, tired smile. “He is. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.”

 

She tilted her head, braids swishing and bright eyes crinkling. Her demeanor always reminded Hawke of a small forest bird – even her voice had a musical lilt to it. “Our little group could use more elves! I wonder if he’s Dalish. I’ll have to ask!”

 

Hawke chuckled. “I... uh, I don’t think he is, but what do I know? He’s been all over the North, apparently.”

 

“A lone wanderer, stalking through the night shadows,” Varric interjected, holding his hand up for effect. “Wandering all of Thedas looking for something lost. Maybe he’s... looking for himself.”

 

Isabela’s snort was decidedly ungraceful, but Hawke preferred it to the ridiculousness coming out of Varrics mouth at the moment. How did he end up with such odd friends?

 

...Oh, who was he kidding? He’d read that book in a heartbeat if Varric ever decided to write it.

 

The door to the Hanged Man swung open and Hawke’s neck snapped around of its own accord. False alarm – it was just Tomwise, here to meet some smuggler’s guild friends by the looks of it.

 

Hawke had a split second to register a warm breath on his ear before Isabela’s voice made him jump. “Wrong elf. Disappointed?” she purred.

 

“A little,” Hawke muttered, eyes still trained on the door. He was about to shrug Isabela off his shoulders, where she was currently draped, when the door opened again. This time, the white hair and stiff posture let Hawke know that it was the _right_ elf.

 

And oh, Andraste, was that elf _right_. Black beanie, black leather jacket, black oversized t-shirt, black leather leggings that strapped below his slender, bare feet. His eyes met Hawke’s from across the room and Hawke swore he was just struck by lightning. The nervous smile Fenris tried to hide as he made his way over to the table was utterly _bewitching_ , and Hawke felt the air crackle around him. It made him think of spirit magic, of power lines swaying in a summer thunderstorm.

 

Hawke sat frozen as Isabela pushed herself off his shoulders and squealed before launching herself at Fenris. Fenris stiffened momentarily when she hugged him close, but relaxed when she let him go and started gushing.

 

“Fenris, darling!” she cooed, hands clasped at her chest in excitement. “It’s been _ages_! I can’t believe my little Hawke has brought us together again!” She sent Hawke a quick wink and pulled a chair out.

 

“Yes, I was, um... surprised to hear that you two are friends,” Fenris replied, rubbing the back of his neck. His attention flickered back over to Hawke, who was still frozen in his seat. “Hello, Hawke. Thank you for inviting me. I hope I’m not late...”

 

Hearing that soft and gravelly voice directed at him snapped Hawke out of his stupor. “Oh, yes! Well! Thank you for coming! And actually, you’re here before Aveline, so that means you’re early. No worries there!” He chuckled but it sounded more like a donkey’s bray. Maker help him.

 

“I... don’t get out much, so this is... it’s nice.” Fenris glanced at Isabela again. “And of course it’s always a pleasure to see Isabela.”

 

Isabela grinned. “I was sure that I’d never see you again! I’m so glad I was wrong.” She gestured to the chair she had pulled out next to Hawke. “But please sit and get settled. Hawke, why don’t you introduce everyone while I get another round. Fenris, what’ll you have?”

 

Fenris sat down next to Hawke, and Hawke was suddenly aware of how hulking and clumsy he looked next to the delicate elf. Well, it wasn’t scaring him away yet, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

 

“I’ll just have whatever everyone else is,” Fenris answered quietly. “Should I start a tab? Or do they want cash up front?”

 

Hawke’s heart did a little swoop as Fenris reached for his wallet. Isabela just waved as she turned towards the bar. “No, no – it’s on the house. Varric owns the place, and he’ll just clean you out in Diamondback anyway. It evens out!”

 

Hawke was suddenly _very_ aware of the two pairs of eyes patiently trained on him. “Ah, uh... introductions! Right.” He cleared his throat and gestured towards the smug dwarf across from him. “Fenris, this is Varric, the bigshot novelist and owner of The Hanged Man. Varric, this is Fenris, Bodahn’s new cashier.”

 

Hawke winced at his description of Fenris – it felt so... lacking. Inadequate. It certainly didn’t do him justice. And if Varric’s expression was anything to go by, Hawke’s awkwardness was not going unnoticed.

 

Varric held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Fenris. Hawke has told me _all about_ you.” If Varric’s feet reached the ground, Hawke would be stepping on his toes right now. Luckily, all attention was diverted from his reddening face by Merrill’s sweet voice.

 

“And I’m Merrill, of the Sabrae Clan! It’s so nice to meet another elf in Kirkwall!”

 

Fenris coughed and averted his eyes from Merrill’s. “Oh, uh, I’m... I’m not...”

 

“You’re not Dalish?” she asked, her tone frank in a way that spoke of naivety rather than insensitivity.  “That’s all right. I’ve made a few friends here at the alienage – I had no idea that city elves had such different customs from Dalish! It’s fascinating.”

 

Fenris was beginning to look uncomfortable. “I’m not from an alienage.”

 

Merrill was _not_ picking up Hawke’s panicked expression. She meant well, but she’d spent so much time and energy invested in studying and showcasing old Elvhen culture that it never occurred to her that some elves had a complicated relationship with their culture. _Especially_ elves from the North.

 

She was also not the most subtle of people, Maker bless her.

 

“Oh? Where are you from, then?”

 

Fenris’s mouth thinned into a tight, straight line. “Tevinter.”

 

 

The momentary tension that settled over the table was broken in an instant when Aveline and Donnic plopped down next to Merrill.

 

“Well, who do we have here?” Aveline asked, eyebrow raised. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few stray strands fell into her eyes. Donnic, ever the gentleman, swept them out of her eyes as she shrugged her uniform jacket off.

 

“Aveline!” Hawke cried, as if the name was his lifeboat out of the sinking ship that was the previous conversation. “This is my... friend, Fenris. He works at Bodahn’s! Fenris, this is Aveline, captain of the City Guard, and her husband, Donnic. He’s also with the Guard.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Fenris began, reaching to shake their hands across the table. “Guard Captain... that’s quite the title. I’m glad to finally put a face to the keeper of law and order in Kirkwall.”

 

Aveline smirked; Hawke could see that she was sizing Fenris up with the scrutiny of a protective older sister. She must have been briefed by Varric or Isabela. “I hope that’s a good thing,” she replied cooly, taking a drink from Isabela’s tray as she approached the table.

 

“Well, I can tell that Hawke keeps good company, so I feel like I’m in capable hands here.” He paused to thank Isabela for the beer she set in front of him. “...Which is much more than I can say of some of the cities I’ve been to.”

 

Hawke could see Aveline puffing up with pride – although he knew she wasn’t going to be _fully_ convinced right off the bat. As he watched Fenris chat with Donnic after a quick joke about needing pointers to gain his wife’s favor, it dawned on Hawke that Fenris was particularly skilled at reading people. He wondered if it had to do with his life on the road or if he was just naturally gifted in that way.

 

“So who are we waiting on?” Isabela asked over the din of the bar. “I’ve got one left...”

 

“Blondie texted me that he was going to be late again,” Varric interjected. “Said he had to pick up some more cat food for the strays by the clinic.”

 

“Oh, he should’ve asked me for some,” Merrill cried. “The clan has been giving me this nice natural blend from Sundermount for my own kitty - I’ll have to let him know.”

 

“You _cat people_ ,” Varric joked, nudging Merrill gently with his elbow. “Am I right, Hawke?”

 

Wingman Varric to the rescue! Except... what if Fenris liked cats? What if Fenris was a “ _cat person_ ”?

 

“Not a cat person?” Fenris asked, his voice laced with amusement.

 

Hawke laughed nervously and hoped it didn’t sound too much like a constipated goose. “Ferelden, remember? We’re the epitome of ‘ _dog people’_. Not that I have anything against cats!” He held his hands up in defense. “It’s just... I grew up with Mabari. And I take the phrase ‘ _dog lord_ ’ as a compliment, not an insult.”

 

Fenris nodded and sipped at his beer. Hawke felt a giddy little jolt deep in his chest when he noticed Fenris’s ears drooping slightly, as if he’d finally relaxed a bit. “I’m more of a dog person myself. There’s something... inspiring about a dog’s loyalty. It’s gratifying to earn their trust.”

 

Hawke was nodding vigorously, his beer sloshing around a bit. “Yes! Exactly! And they make _excellent_ pillows!”

 

Fenris cracked a smile, then quickly hid it behind the foam in his beer. Hawke feared he might go into cardiac arrest soon. Unless he had already passed out drunk and this was just a lovely, self-indulgent dream. Or a coma.

 

“I have yet to use a dog as a pillow, but I can see it being comfortable. Especially a large breed like a Mabari.”

 

The alcohol must have been working its way to Hawke’s brain because he didn’t stop himself from adding, “You could try _my_ dog as a pillow sometime!”

 

It only occurred to him how ridiculous those words sounded when Isabela, eavesdropping of course, almost choked on her drink. He also swore that Varric muttered, “Smooth, Hawke” under his breath while he shuffled cards.

 

Fenris’s cheeks tinged pink and Hawke felt his heart soar into the stratosphere. “That sounds... _nice_. I’d love to meet your dog sometime.”

 

This couldn’t be reality. This was a glitch in the Matrix. This was the Maker playing a cosmic joke on him. “ _Umyeahweshouldtotallydothatsometime_ ,” Hawke wheezed out in a single breath.

 

Fenris was about to reply, but he was cut off by the loud scraping of a chair across from him. They both paused and looked up at the interruption.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” a tall, scruffy man sighed, slouching down into the chair he’d just moved. “Who’s this?”

 

“Anders,” Hawke began, gesturing towards Fenris. “This is-“

 

Without warning, Anders’ eyes flashed blue. “ _This one carries the Fade with him_ ,” a deep voice growled, the eerie blue eyes fixed on Fenris.

 

Fenris stiffened, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and mercenary focus. The entire table fell silent and slack-jawed.

 

Hawke heard his own voice speaking on autopilot. “Justice,” it warned. “Calm down. Bring Anders back. Please.”

 

Anders’ eyes flashed again and suddenly they were back to their normal honey brown. “Anders,” Aveline chided from further down the table. “I’ve asked you before to rein that spirit in. Please don’t make me ask you again.”

 

“ _Spirit_?” Fenris asked, his eyes still fixed on Anders like a cornered animal. “Is this man possessed?”

 

Hawke sighed, searching for the right words to diffuse the situation. Clearly Fenris wasn’t too keen on this whole... situation. Which made sense to Hawke now, knowing where he came from.

 

“I am a _willing host_ to a _benevolent spirit_ , and I’m also _right here_ ,” Anders huffed. Oh no. No no no no. Hawke did not need this. Everything was going so well! Even with Merrill’s little hiccup, Fenris was having a good time and getting along with them all! But now...

 

“ _Benevolent_?” Fenris growled. “It didn’t _feel_ benevolent!”

 

“Justice may get a little carried away sometimes, but I can tamper it down,” Anders insisted. “He was just alarmed, is all. I mean, you’re half in the Fade and half out – you don’t see _that_ every day.”

 

“Anders, let’s just let this go, ok?” Hawke groaned. Then, under his breath: “We’ve already had some invasive personal questions tonight...”

 

Anders’ jaw tightened. “I’m cool if _he_ is.”

 

Fenris was still frozen in place – Hawke was certain he hadn’t taken his eyes off Anders. An image of a wounded or hunted animal flashed through his mind again. The pieces were falling into place. An elf from Tevinter. A life on the run. Mysterious glowing tattoos that seem to have a magical purpose. There was something more here – something deeply tragic about this man’s past that Hawke knew shouldn’t be dredged up over Diamondback at The Hanged Man.

 

Hawke chanced a very _very_ light touch to Fenris’s elbow. “I’m sure it’ll be all right in a bit, yeah?” He leaned into Fenris’s line of sight but kept a cautious distance. “Fenris, do you want some fresh air?”

 

Fenris snapped out of his staredown and gave a quick, sheepish nod. Hawke stood up, his hand still a feather light touch on Fenris’s elbow, and waved to the table. “We’ll be back in a second. Go ahead and start a game if you’d like.”

 

The night air was cool on their faces as they stepped out of the bar, the din fading with the door closing behind them. They settled against the far wall in silence for a moment, their puffs of breath rising in the air between them. Surprisingly, Fenris was the one to break the quiet.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground. “For that... outburst. Or whatever it was.” He pushed his hair back out of his eyes and Hawke noticed three white dots glowing on his forehead. They must usually remain hidden behind his bangs. It somehow felt like Hawke was let in on a secret.

 

Fenris cleared his throat and continued. “I... have a difficult past. It isn’t always an issue, but... there was something deeply frightening about that... That...” Fenris growled in frustration. “My instinct is to call it an abomination, but clearly that man is your friend, and I believe you to be a good judge of character. It would feel... disrespectful to doubt.”

 

Hawke chose his words carefully, his eyes on the sky above. “Anders has had a pretty rough life himself. I think that’s why he was so drawn to the spirit of Justice to begin with. But it’s not unreasonable for you to be wary of someone hosting a spirit like that.” Hawke scuffed his shoes on the ground, glancing down to make sure he didn’t step on Fenris’s bare feet next to his.

 

“You... you said you were from Tevinter, right? My knowledge of the country’s history and culture is limited, but... elves were slaves to the magisters up until pretty recently, weren’t they?”

 

Fenris grunted in affirmation. “Not exclusively elves, but mostly. Slavery was officially abolished in Tevinter about a hundred years ago, but there are many ways to enslave people through legal loopholes.” Fenris sighed. “It’s... complicated, to say the least. Especially when it comes to magic. I don’t know if I can explain it.”

 

Hawke nodded and they stood in silence for a minute. When Fenris’s posture was less stiff, when his ears began to lower and his eyes came back into focus – Hawke decided to speak up.

 

“Do you want to go back inside, or would you like to head home? There’s no wrong answer – they’ll understand.” What he wanted to say was _I’ll understand_ , but it felt a bit too intimate.

 

Fenris hesitated before pushing off the wall. “Let’s go back inside. I... would like to apologize. To Anders, but also to Merrill, for being short with her.” He bumped shoulders with Hawke and it was as if the world had tilted back into alignment. “Besides, we never got to play a single game of Diamondback.”

 

“Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable – to be honest, Anders isn’t really everyone’s cup of tea... my brother Carver nearly decked him once or twice. But then again, Carver tries to deck _everyone_ at least once, so take that as you will.”

 

Fenris gave a small smile. “I’m fine. Really. I’ll... I’ll tell you more about me some other time. I’d hate to cast a shadow on a fun game of cards.”

 

Hawke grinned, his heart in his throat. “Good! Now I can stop rambling like a fool and we can try to win some coin.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” As they turned to re-enter the building, Fenris brushed his fingers against the small of Hawke’s back. “Thank you, Hawke.”

 

Hawke pinched his arm to make certain he wasn’t dreaming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Face Time with Bethany! And Hawke spends quality time with Aveline at 3 AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is self-indulgent garbage, I'm not even gonna lie...
> 
> Fenris is back in the spotlight next chapter!

\--

“So how is life on the outside?” Bethany joked, her voice muffled with that tinny quality phones have. At least Hawke could see his sister’s face this time. He flopped back on his bed, his phone held up so she could still see his face as they spoke. “I don’t think I’ve pulled my nose out of my textbooks for... two weeks straight, _at least_.”

 

“Oh, you know... full of boring adult things like taxes and idiot customers and Mother’s nagging...” Hawke paused for a moment, then swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. “It’s also full of lovely things like... handsome, mysterious elves.”

 

Bethany squealed and shook her hair out of its ponytail. She’d gotten a haircut since the last time he’d seen her – now her bangs were cut straight across her forehead. Very _edgy_ and _mod_. It made her look older than 18, that was for sure.

 

“ _Handsome elves_? Tell me more!” She stilled and scrunched her nose. “...Unless you’re talking about a new video game or something. _Please_ tell me this handsome elf is _not_ from a dating sim!”

 

Hawke’s face reddened and he furrowed his brow. “Bethy! How can you be so cruel? Of course he’s real... although if he _were_ an option in a dating sim I would be playing it 24/7, I assure you.”

 

“Ok, ok! I believe you,” Bethany laughed. “So... does this handsome elf have a name? Or should I just call him Mr. Handsome?”

 

Hawke chewed on his lip and hugged a pillow to his chest. “His name is Fenris – I met him at Bodahn’s. And I’m not exaggerating when I say that he’s _stunning_. Just ask Isabela!”

 

“Ooh, what does he look like? I’m intrigued. Send me a picture!” Bethany’s large brown eyes were wide as saucers and glittering in the low light of her dorm room with interest.

 

“Do you think I have a _picture_ of him? Isabela had to harass me into getting his number!” Bethany snorted and Hawke rolled his eyes. “He’s kind of tall for an elf, actually... but his forehead is right around my nose. He has very soft, white hair and he always looks grumpy. It’s _adorable_.”

 

“Garrett, all I’m seeing is a male version of Keeper Marethari. You need to get better at describing people.”

 

“Hey!” Hawke laughed, rolling over to prop himself up on his elbow. “Keeper Marethari looks _fabulous_ for her age! Humans _wish_ we aged so well!”

 

“Point taken. But I’m still coming up short here. I need _details,_ Garrett!”

 

“Well he’s not _old_ , if that’s what you were implying,” Hawke huffed, only mildly annoyed. “He has tattoos all over his body – on his arms, his hands, his neck, his face, even his feet.”

 

“Wow,” Bethany interjected, raising her eyebrows. “That’s some pretty hardcore Vallaslin. Is he Dalish?”

 

Hawke shook his head. “No, he’s from Tevinter.” The unsaid “ _Oh”_ hung in the air between them. Hawke gnawed on his lip before breaking the brief silence. “He... well, his tattoos- they’re white most of the time, but sometimes they get all... glow-y. It’s not regular Vallaslin ink.” The corners of his mouth tilted into a frown. “I... I think they have some kind of magical property. Anders- well, _Justice_ , really- said that he ‘carries the Fade’ with him. That he’s halfway in the Fade, half not. What do you think that means?”

 

Bethany’s eyebrows pulled down in thought. “That _is_ odd. I can’t know without meeting him in person, but... you said they glow? What color?”

 

“Blue-ish, I guess. But like I said, they’re usually white – they only glow sometimes.”

 

Bethany hummed. “I might be going on a limb here, but... if they glow blue sometimes and if Justice feels the Fade around him, I wonder... if they’re made from lyrium.”

 

Hawke’s jaw dropped. “ _Lyrium_? But isn’t that... a really outdated substance that boosts magic? Didn’t everyone stop using lyrium because it’s basically a drug?”

 

Bethany’s expression turned a touch melancholy. “Yeah. Didn’t you say he was from Tevinter?” Hawke nodded. “They... are behind the times in a lot of ways. Apparently it’s still pretty common up there. We spent a whole semester studying Tevinter. It’s... not like down here. Especially for elves.”

 

Hawke hummed quietly in agreement. “He... he told me that he has a difficult past. It’s not hard to put two and two together. I just...” He sighed, running a hand through his thick, messy hair. “I just hope he’s happy here. That he can create a new life here, or something.”

 

When Hawke turned his eyes back to his phone screen, he found Bethany watching him with a fond smile. “What?”

 

She shook her head and chuckled. “You have it _bad_ , Big Brother. It’s... refreshing. And cute.”

 

Hawke was sure that steam was pouring from his ears with how hot his face suddenly felt. “I- I just- He’s just so... _special_. You’d know it if you met him.”

 

“Is that a promise?” Bethany grinned, throwing in a wink for good measure. “Bring him over for Satinalia and I’ll report my impressions back to you.”

 

“If I don’t screw everything up by then, I’d be happy to,” Hawke replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a shy smile.

 

“Don’t worry, you won’t,” Bethany reassured. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m your sister.”

 

“Thanks, Bethy. I’ll be sure to get you a something special for Satinalia.”

 

\--

 

It wasn’t the first time Hawke was called out to help Aveline at 3 AM.

 

That didn’t make it any easier to climb into his Chevalier Halla and drive all the way to Darktown with his tools in the dead of night. Never mind that he’d woken up to reruns of Cycle 20 of Thedas’ Next Top Model still playing on his TV – which Aveline could hear loud and clear through the phone. _Humiliating_.

 

...He knew that Aveline was rooting for Cassandra to win, just like he was. Petrice had _nothing_ on her, even though the notorious hard-ass judge Meredith seemed to think Petrice could do no wrong. At least Orsino’s vote usually canceled Meredith’s out. And Alistair, the token hunky photographer, was always good eye candy and a reasonable judge.

 

 

He pulled into an empty parking space behind Aveline’s giant Ferelden Forder, hoping that his car wouldn’t get stolen if he kept close to the behemoth. His tires had been slashed in Darktown once, when he was visiting Anders at his clinic. He’d only left the car for about 20 minutes, but... well. At least Anders used his magic to help patch them up well enough to make it back to Hightown. He was just lucky it wasn’t anything worse.

 

Hawke took a cursory glance in all of his car mirrors before grabbing his lockpick kit from the passenger seat and slinking out of his car. Aveline stepped out of the shadows, and Hawke jumped about 3 feet in the air with an undignified squeak.

 

Darktown made him so damn _squirrely_.

 

Aveline raised an eyebrow. “Hawke,” she greeted, eyes glittering with amusement despite their weariness. “Sorry to call you out so late. I know how you love to stare at Alistair’s muscles.”

 

Hawke was too tired to even protest at Aveline’s friendly jab. “ _How_ Morrigan could have left all that beauty behind, I’ll never know,” he sighed.

 

“She’s doing quite well on her own, I hear,” Aveline replied, steering Hawke into a nearby alley to avoid attracting attention. “Didn’t some magazine name her Thedas’ Most Badass Mom or something? I hear she’s built up a total business empire since leaving Fifth Blight.”

 

“Ah, those were the days,” Hawke smiled dreamily. “Of _course_ Leliana was my favorite – I could sense she was destined for greatness before she ever became Lady Nightingale. But Morrigan was pretty great, too.”

 

Aveline shook her head as they shuffled down the alleyway. “I was more of an Anora fan. Sweet, home-grown Ferelden girl who could kick your ass if you looked at her wrong.”

 

Hawke barked out a laugh. “Nice, I can see it!”

 

“Who were the other two again? I can never remember them...”

 

Hawke gave a scandalized gasp. “Aveline! How _could_ you! They were Ferelden’s – nay, all of Thedas’ – superstar girl group! Valenna and Celene were just as important as the Big 3! Valenna was the rough-and-tumble tomboy and Celene was the fashionista! Honestly, it’s like we’re from a different culture altogether.”

 

Aveline rolled her eyes. “If you’re done waxing poetic about pop music from 10 years ago, I’d like you to get us in this warehouse here to set up surveillance.”

 

Hawke sighed dramatically as he kneeled down to inspect the door’s many locks. “I _suppose_ I could stand to do some actual work. For the police. Instead of... you know, gabbing about pop culture in a Darktown alley at 3 AM.”

 

Hawke could hear an undignified (but also endearing) snort from behind him as he worked his magic, so to speak. “That would be much appreciated, Hawke.”

 

“Mind if I ask what you’ll be doing once inside?” Hawke asked, tinkering with some of the easier locks first.

 

Aveline shot a cursory glance to either side of where they stood before stooping down to whisper, “Just putting in some bugs to collect evidence of the Winters’ illicit activities.”

 

“Ah,” Hawke muttered. “The usual, then.”

 

Eager to change the subject, Aveline stood up again before speaking. “So... how’s it going with that grumpy elf you brought around the other night?”

 

Hawke’s hand slipped at being caught off-guard, and one of his sharp tools hit his thumbnail. “It’s... uh... it’s going. I guess? Kind of. Maybe.” He dropped the offending tool on the ground to pick up a different one. “...My huge thumbs have been sabotaging my normally witty quips. I’m _this close_ to turning off autocorrect, I swear to Andraste.”

 

“Oh, it can’t be _that_ bad.”

 

Hawke turned to show her a deadpan expression. “When I tried to type out ‘shop-a-thon’ it came out as ‘shop-a- _thong_ ’. ‘I googled cute nugs’ became ‘I _fondled_ cute nugs’.” Aveline was struggling to keep her laughter at bay, but it was a losing battle. “Worst of all, asking for recommendations of good ‘gentle thunderstorm’ white noise music turned into asking about ‘ _genital_ thunderstorm’ music. I swear, this phone is out to _ruin my life_.”

 

“That’s _terrible_ ,” Aveline wheezed, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “But surely he must like what you’ve got if he keeps coming back, no?”

 

“Huh,” Hawke said, more to himself than to Aveline. The last lock popped open. “I... hadn’t thought of it that way. I’ve been too blinded by mortification to consider that he might find it... endearing. Or something.”

 

Aveline clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a catch, Hawke. He’d be mad to pass you up.” Her face darkened. “And he’d be mad to break your heart because then he’ll have to deal with _me_.”

 

Hawke grinned up at Aveline, her long red-blonde hair framing her face in a gentle halo of light. “Aveline, you’re an _angel_.”

 

Aveline flexed a bicep for effect. “I’m your Guardian Angel. And don’t you forget it!”

 

“What would I do without you?”

 

“You’d have a lot more tickets, that’s for sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> (1) In case you didn't notice, Chevalier Halla = Chevy Impala, lol. Also, I took Aveline's car name from one of the DA:I mounts. Other contenders were: Taslin Strider, Orlesian Courser, Amaranthine Charger, Anderfel Ranger (a mix of 2 mounts), and Kossith Asaarash 
> 
> (2) Fifth Blight = something akin to The Spice Girls, lol... I wanted context for Leliana becoming Lady Nightingale (kind of a Lana Del Rey persona) and I feel like Morrigan would've gone the Lady Gaga route. Fun fact kind of alluded to here: Morrigan used to be married to Alistair - once their son Kieran was born, it wasn't working out and they divorced. Alistair later remarried Anora (he got to know her when Morrigan was in Fifth Blight)


End file.
